


all in good time

by Anonymous



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Breathplay, Breeding Kink, Cockwarming, Creampie, Darkfic, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dominant Armitage Hux, Drug Use, F/M, POV of a predator who thinks it's love, Pet Rose, Submissive Rose, The First Order Wins (Star Wars), Unreliable Narrator, kegels on the cock, major consent issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:40:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29902614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Friendless as a boy, Hux misses out on body language and social cues. He loves his pet and she loves him back tenfold.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Rose Tico
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17
Collections: Anonymous





	all in good time

Governing the galaxy is an arduous task with two tyrants at the helm—if Hux thought Ren was erratic, that volatile sand-rat apprentice-companion of his was so much worse.

Hux has learned to accept their rule, to bow and keep himself small. He has been there before, all his life in fact, but never with this… _acceptance_. Maybe the two lovers will kill each other in bed one day. Maybe it would open an opportunity to seize power. Maybe he should plot day and night to prepare for the possibility. Maybe he could— _no_ , it is none of his concern.

He slots his code cylinder into the control panel, and the blast doors to his chambers slide open with a soothing hiss followed by that lovely chime of biohexacrypt security locking behind him. End of the day. Music to his ears. Absolute privacy. Nobody can come in or out of his chambers unless he wills it. 

He strides into the den and sets his sight on the reason why his attitude and ambitions have changed, why they have mellowed for the better.

 _Rose_.

His darling is curled up on his ice-blue sofa, facing the backrest, asleep in her usual spot. Her thick hair fans over the seat cushion in lush black waves that he has been longing to pet all day. The cute round cheeks of her ass peek under the sheer pink negligée he chose for her this morning. She wears no underwear, the sly little runt. She can’t be any more obvious with her intention.

He drags a leather-clad finger along her spine and she flinches, rolls over to evade his touch. Silly girl. It’s only him. He plants a wet kiss on her lips, then lifts her chin to behold her. Her alluring eyes, heavy with cosmetics and enhanced lashes, lazily flutter open. He loves the excitement of being the first thing that she sees when she awakens; loves the surprise of her mood.

She attacks. Her small but strong jaw clamps onto his forefinger in a vicious bite. It doesn’t hurt— he took the precaution of wearing gloves lined with durasteel filament—but it must for her teeth as she immediately lets go and spits a dirty litany of curses.

“Mind your language, dear.”

She doesn’t listen. More oaths pour from that delectable yet foul mouth. She’s testy. It’s okay. Everyone has off days. He raises a hand to her throat and presses, holding it firm. Her breath hitches in anticipation. 

“Tell me, love, why aren’t we wearing the underwear I left you?” Her throat bobs as she swallows hard beneath his steady palm buffered by leather. He knows the answer to his question, she can’t be more obvious with her lust, but he wants to hear it directly from those glossy red fuckable lips.

“You call that underwear? Those razor thin strings that hurt like hell and covered _nothing_!”

His grip tightens. What a liar. The correct response should have been: she isn’t wearing them because she _wants_ her naked hairless wet pussy to greet him like a newborn kit drooling for milk and good play. What else is she lying about?

“Have you exercised your pelvic floor muscles?” he asks, loosening his grip.

“Y-yes,” she chokes out.

“Rose, what did I tell you about lying?”

“I-I’m not lying! I did them.”

He strokes her neck, long and careful, gently massaging the red marks he left behind; perhaps he was overzealous with their breathplay session, even if he knows that it makes her heart pound. He’d do well to contain his strength, not that he’s particularly strong; she’s simply delicate, muscles weakened by the diet of stim and semen for the past five years. That will have to change once he gets her pregnant. She’ll need more fat and muscle to withstand their marathon coupling. Breeding is no easy feat. 

All in good time. 

For now, he will be sure to reward her with an extra helping of her favorite dessert, his fresh creamy cum suckled directly for his cock. He’ll even let her leave red stains from that indelible lipstick. He marked her neck; it’s only fair that she marks his shaft.

He sits down and pulls her petite body into his lap.

“Quit it!” Her hips sway sensually, faking resistance. Her small hands swat against his chest, a mock attempt at pushing him off. How cute. “I’m not—"

He smashes into her mouth and holds the back of her head to steer her movement, to keep her firm on his lips. She performs the resistance roleplay with such conviction, struggling from his kiss, squirming in his lap. She manages to pull apart, only for a split second to gasp for air; his tongue slips in, tasting the back of that dirty yet delicious palate. His fingers thread through beautiful strands of galaxy black hair that he longs to pull up, to use as a rein when he rides her from behind. All in good time.

She loves playing hard-to-get. Just a little longer and his breeches will be stained by her drooling pussy. With his free hand, he crooks a finger between the folds of her groin— how convenient that she wears no underwear, the wanton devil— but curiously, she isn’t wet. One kiss is usually enough to ignite her arousal; she loves his kisses, craves for them all day. It must be her shifting hormones from the removal of her contraceptive implant; her body is changing, getting ready to breed for him.

No matter, there are ways to slide in. He considers artificial lubrication—no, he has a better idea.

Begrudgingly, he breaks away from the kiss. A thread of spit bridges their tongues before tearing and dangling from parted red lips. She’s winded. Rosy. Panting erotically. She regards him through narrowed lustful eyes, annoyed that he stopped. Not yet. He can’t spoil her just yet. With the snap of a finger, a BB unit rolls over and shoots out a pneumatic dispenser from its belly flap. Hux doesn’t want to make the aphrodisiac spice a habit, she always keeps him hard and enduring; in fact, his erection currently strains the seams of his breeches, but he needs the spice for that extra boost of precum, to enable a smooth entry into that snug pussy. 

The microneedle pierces through thick gaberwool, uniform, and skin. The effect is immediate. He leaks profusely and wets his underwear, even seeps through his breeches and dampens her groin. She panics and jumps off his lap, acting as if they hadn’t done this three days ago. He hates the sticky feeling and he’d love nothing more than to have her lick it clean, to suck his underwear for every last drop of moisture. Maybe for their second or third round.

“Darling, _sit_.” He pats his thigh. “Do you _want_ to receive punishment for your defiance?”

She shakes her head and returns, setting one ass cheek on the edge of his bony knee, short legs crossed at the ankles barely reaching the floor. Shy, demure. Acting all submissive and apologetic, as if the threat of punishment was real. As if she didn’t enjoy being fucked in that skintight sensory deprivation suit that covered her body head to toe aside from the slit at her cunt and mouth. She came so hard and cried so much that night; he’s surprised that she doesn’t want a repeat. But he’s grateful because he’s much too tired for that sort of play tonight. She no doubt senses his exhaustion; she’s compromising her pleasure for his. She’s kind and thoughtful like that. He’s such a lucky man.

“Good girl.” He pets her hair. “My darling, good girl.”

He unfastens his breeches and his rabid cock springs out, spewing with precum. He pulls her closer until her shy little eyes, no longer downcast, have nowhere to look but forward into his. He slots the leaking head between her folds, letting his lubricant pool into the gap, then watches her clenched jaw slacken as he carefully pushes in and out. It’s ridiculous. With a pussy this tight, even after five years of stretching beyond its limit at least twice a day, she has no need for pelvic floor exercises. But it is the principle. The discipline.

He steadies her wriggling hips; she hisses, tenses, but he knows which angle to turn to coax her open. 

“That’s my girl.” He hushes her, caresses her neck, just the way she likes it. At last, her cunt swallows him up with a greedy, ravenous mouthful and he glides all the way in. He tickles her g-spot without even trying; he can tell by the way her eyes droop and her breath goes shallow. She refuses to meet his gaze. She’s too ashamed to admit. She loves him.

“Now, go on, do your exercises. We can’t have you _lazy_ , no matter how fantastic of a cockwarmer you are. One,” he purrs in her ear. She flexes and squeezes his cock.

“Two.”

It’s painful how much he wants to bounce her up and down or flip her over and pound her into the cold hard floor.

“Three.”

But he’s patient. It’s just exercise, nothing pleasurable. Nothing sexual. _Yet_.

“Repeat. Harder, dear— _yes_ , like that. Four.”

He rubs her back, leather against sheer silk and soft skin. As her reps continue, his palms grow hot in his gloves. Breathy, suggestive exhales escape her little throat and nose. She leans into his chest, pressing into him with her generous breasts and nipples so hard that he can even feel them through the thick layer of his uniform. _Yes_. Almost there.

“Forty,” he breathes out.

Discipline accomplished. Now for the play, a reward for her job well done. He cups her ass and lifts her higher to let her body fall onto him with the force of gravity. He bounds her up and down. Fucks her until she mewls and pleads. She loves it. She loves him.

But he won’t let her come just yet. Best to keep her on her curling toes. All in good time.

He comes into her, steadying his aim to ensure that not a single drop escapes. She’s filled to the brim with his seed, a reserve of lubricant for their next session. It should keep, it won’t be long until he’s hard again. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”

She has those tears in her eyes again. Tears of joy. Adorable and loving, but embarrassed of pleasing her man. There’s nothing to be ashamed of, he has told her many times. Still, she bites her swollen bottom lip, full of shame.

Oh the irony. He once felt ashamed of this feeling. Love and pleasure, she taught him one night long ago in her so-called rebellion against his order— pushed him down, ruffled his hair, took him whole. He had never felt that way before. Love. Care. Kindness. That night, he fell in love with her and hasn’t cowered since. She drives him insane, even after five years of daily lovemaking; he can never get enough of her body, of her sweet scent and pretty voice. Now, she’s the one to feel shame for harboring this feeling. He’ll have to teach her. It’s what partners do, and they are partners for life.

He carries her to the refresher, sets her down and removes her negligée with a simple flick of thin straps off delicate shoulders. Sheer pink silk pools at her ankles. She’s a work of art, all dark hair, twinkling midnight eyes, and that healthy complexion golden like Haysian smelt. So precious, so rare. 

He undresses as well, starting with his gloves. He used to hate undressing in front of her, in front of anyone for that matter. But she taught him to relax under that warm gaze that did not judge his less-than-perfect physique; did not pity his thin pale skin covered in ugly scars, the marks of his weakness and failure. 

He guides her into the shower where he cleans her thoroughly, everywhere except her cunt still clenched and keeping that reserve of semen safe. As they finish up and step out of the stall, she mumbles something.

“What’s that? Speak up dear.”

“I hate you.”

“Yes, my love, you _hate_ me.” He can’t stop himself from chuckling. The lies she spouts, the act she puts up. Her commitment to character is commendable. Adorable.

It’s however unfortunate; he would have liked to be pushed around tonight, to be dominated by such a wild creature after a tiresome day. She has performed the role so naturally before—very, _very_ well—and he came so _so_ hard. Except her needs come before his. He is a General after all; he knows how to act with authority and he’ll do it for her. Anything for her.

He dries her with her favorite fluffy towel. Pampers her skin with oils and essence. Brushes her hair with both comb and his bare fingers. Blows it with a gust of hot air until the waves turn silky straight. Of course she relaxes and her true nature comes out. Maybe she has finally dropped the roleplay. Maybe they will make sweet, gentle love tonight.

He leans in for another kiss, but she stops him with a hand on his bare chest, pushing him back.

“No.”

Alas, she wants to continue the play. Probably wants it _extra_ rough? Her determined eyes, the tensed shoulders, the widened combative stance. She’s putting up quite the performance.

“No?” he asks, to be sure.

“I mean, no _sir_.”

“Rose, I’ve told you, call me Armitage.”

“Yes, _sir_.”

It stings. Her acting is that good. He would much prefer tender lovemaking and falling asleep buried inside her, both cock and heart warmed by her care. No games, just _love_.

He leans in again and she shoves him so hard, he stumbles back a step. “I mean it. No, _sir_.”

Those eyes are _lying_. He smirks. He used to stop when she said no; after all, he wants what’s best for her. She would huddle, curl into a ball, sulk in a corner; a sad, pitiful kit that wrenches his heart even at the mere memory.

But he learned. Her no is just part of her shame around sex with him, her former enemy. This roleplay is her coping mechanism, a way to distract from her desires, her deep love for him. He’s a patient man. He also had to overcome their differences.

She’s staring at him, fierce and hard, but those eyes can’t fool him, not anymore. See, they glisten with the onset of tears, a clear sign of her pent-up emotion, of her desperate want for his attention. Those tears are his greatest achievement. The harder he can make her cry, the closer he is to breaking down her barrier, her shame. One day, she won’t have to cry anymore; she’ll be able to express her emotion in other ways.

It’s been five years and this shame persist, but he is patient. There’s progress. He knows all her buttons. He knows every angle for all the different positions; they’ve tried it all. Practice makes perfect and he is perfect. He’s on the cusp of a breakthrough. He feels so close. They’re ready to make the next step in their relationship— a family.

But not tonight. That discussion will wait. First he must satiate her desire, let those tears fall as she releases her stress, her shame.

“ _Rose_ ,” he warns, using his fake-menacing tone. “I’ve had quite the day convincing that unhinged friend of yours _not_ to fire Starkiller V at the Ileenium system. Perhaps it was an erroneous decision? Perhaps we should—”

“No!” she panics. “I mean, y-you did well! It’s not a mistake. Armitage, thank you for stopping Rey from making a rash decision.” Her smile is strained, a bit unusual even though her teeth are beautiful.

He doesn’t like this tactic. These verbal threats are too close to manipulation, of forcing her to reward him for acting in her favor. The ends however justify the means, it’s the fastest way to break down her barrier, and when her small hands set at the back of his neck to pull him down, to meet her lips, all guilt vanishes. She tastes amazing. So smooth, so soft, so _loving_. He growls in approval, holds the small of her back and draws her in. 

The aphrodisiac spice works its magic and he grows harder, thicker in both length and girth. Without breaking from the kiss, he lifts her ass and carries her to the bedchamber. He sets her down, takes a moment to behold her wondrous form. He settles over her shy body, lowering into her… 

Despite the added girth, he glides in like a seamless wet dream; she’s that wet and aroused and eager for his love. She takes him readily and releases a shiver-inducing moan that urges him to pump, right away, to hear it again and again.

Still, there’s fear in her eyes. A strange persistent knot binds her desire, holding her back from letting completely loose. She’s afraid of this love; he once felt the same. 

He kisses her neck, her breasts, plays with her erect nipples with the tip of his tongue; he kisses her everywhere, slowly, ever so patient as he steadily thrusts into her tight pussy, hitting her g-spot at teasing intervals. He’ll do whatever it takes to make her happy. To see her crack a rare smile, to show her teeth in glee and not in a bite.

He’s never sure how much time elapses, how long it takes for her climax, to reach her tipping point; it’s perhaps the only instance where he loses count, loses his mind, and embraces the chaos. But his tiring muscles and parched lips tell him that it’s been a _long_ time. They should wrap-up before he blows his load and leaves her hanging again. Sure, he can easily finish her off with his tongue, but he wants them to come _together_.

A little force is needed to push her over the edge.

“My beautiful darling,” he whispers in her ear, placing a sweaty palm and long fingers on her arching neck. “My sweet, lovely, _naughty_ Rose.”

He adds pressure and her breath hitches. “Say it, Rose.”

“Say what?” she chokes back.

“Say that you love me.”

“I hate you, General.”

“ _Armitage_ ,” he corrects, chuckling at her sarcasm. She’s too adorable, making jokes even at the pinnacle of pleasure. “My _name_ , Rose. Declare your love with my name.”

He rams into her, hitting her g-spot extra hard. She moans and he cuts the sound with a flex of his fingers around her throat. “Say it.”

“I—”

“What’s that my darling?”

“I… love you.”

He lives for those words hissed out of pretty lips, paired with bedroom eyes only for him. His grip tightens. So tiny. He could break her neck if he wasn’t careful. “My name, Rose. Say it together.”

“A-a-armitage,” she croaks, weak hands clawing at his back. “I love you, Armitage!”

_Yes!_

He releases the chokehold and her walls clench around him. It sends him over. He comes hard into her, still pumping and smashing into her sweet spot and forcing his semen into her womb. She comes again, back arching, screaming his name. She bites his shoulder like a rabid beast because there’s still some juice left to him, still some hardness to push her a third time. She comes again. Pride swells. He _lives_ for this. Pleasing his one and only love.

Tears stream down his face. It’s been a while since he let himself cry of joy.

She’s a sobbing mess. Wailing. He understands. They’re on the same wavelength; he’d be wailing too if he didn’t have years of discipline. He lies next to her and brings her snotty nose into the crook of his neck, caressing her back, kissing her head. If his dick was still hard, he’d let her suck it to pacify her; instead, it is flaccid and still buried between her tender walls, throbbing from the aftershock of her intense climax. He’ll keep it there, to bind their bodies because they are one, two halves of a whole, meant to be. He’ll stick to her until the end of time, kriff, even beyond death! He’s so happy, so lucky to have her.

He finds that wailing mouth and muffles the sound with a deep kiss. He coaxes her tongue until she calms, until there’s no energy left, until they share one breath, resting on each other’s lips. He holds her tight, cradled in his arms where she rightfully belongs.

“No need to worry, my love. I am here. I will _never_ leave you.”

She sniffles, deep brown eyes sparkling like starlight. 

“I love you, Rose.”

She sobs harder, moved by his confession. In time, she will be able to control her emotions, be able to say 'I love you' freely and not just in the height of passion.

He’s a patient man and they have their whole lives together.


End file.
